


Goldilocks

by PrettyPoppy



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Community: seasonal_spuffy, F/M, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Holidays, One Shot, Romance, Season/Series 06, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-08 10:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16427798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyPoppy/pseuds/PrettyPoppy
Summary: Three days before Halloween, Spike makes a rather interesting request.  Season 6.  Set between “Life Serial” and “All the Way.”





	Goldilocks

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Fall 2010 round of Seasonal Spuffy. I am currently in the process of polishing up all my old Spuffy fanfiction and archiving it here at AO3. I am not altering any of the content, just editing for punctuation and grammar.
> 
> This fic is dedicated, with much love and appreciation, to the Pimp, for giving me yet one more reason to love Halloween.

“Come on, Slayer.  You know you wanna.”

“No.  No, I don’t wanna.”

“Yeah, you do.”  A knowing smirk spread across Spike’s lips as he stared at Buffy, the heat from his brilliant blue eyes breaking down her defenses.

Buffy grabbed the plastic bag out of his hands and turned on her heels. “Fine,” she said in a huff.  “But no peeking.”

Buffy crossed the darkened room, being careful not to bump into any of the display racks.  The glow of streetlights streaming through the large row of storefront windows was all she had to light her way.  She pulled aside the dressing room curtain and stepped inside.  When she closed the curtain behind her, she was instantly shrouded in complete darkness. 

“Damn it,” she mumbled under her breath.  “How am I supposed to—?”

Suddenly, the fluorescent lights above her head sizzled to life and the small cubicle was fully illuminated.

“Is that better, Slayer?” Spike called from somewhere across the salesroom floor.

Buffy refused to answer.

“You’re welcome!”

Buffy ignored him.  She took in a sharp breath as she stared at herself in the full-length mirror attached to the wall in front of her.  What the hell was she doing?  Why had she let Spike goad her into this?  It was stupid.  Completely and utterly stupid.

It was three days before Halloween.  After a long night of patrolling, she and Spike had headed back toward Revello Drive.  Spike always walked her home these days.  Ever since she had come back.  And every night that they walked, their trip seemed to get longer and longer.  It had started out with short detours – a quick sweep of the neighboring cemetery, over to Willy’s just to see if there was any nefarious activity afoot.  Soon, Spike and Buffy were spending almost as much time walking home together as they did patrolling. 

They talked a lot.  About all sorts of things.  Buffy could tell Spike all her problems.  After all, he was the only one who knew the truth.  And something, something seemed to happen to her when he was around.  She couldn’t quite explain it, but she just seemed more alive.  And more at home.  She had started to crave his companionship and dread the company of her friends and family.  She didn’t have to pretend with Spike.  She could be who she really was.

So tonight, after patrolling, they had ended up meandering through the streets of downtown Sunnydale and had run into a couple of vamps trying to eat a pair of club girls behind The Bronze.  As soon as the fight had started, the girls had run off screaming.  And then, after they had realized exactly what they were up against, the vamps had run off too.  Buffy and Spike had followed them into this store – one of those fly-by-night Halloween discount stores that popped up on October 1st and disappeared exactly one month later – dusted them, and then . . . well . . . Spike had come up with this ridiculous idea.

With another sigh, Buffy carelessly dropped the plastic bag on the floor.  She shrugged out of her long brown coat and hung it on one of the empty hooks lining the dressing room wall. 

A small tingle prickled at the back of her spine as she reached for the hem of her blouse.  Her hands stilled, the soft fabric still clenched between her fingertips.  Spike was only a few feet away.  Even though she hadn’t heard him move any closer, she could feel him hovering just outside the small enclosure.  If she went any further, in a few short moments, she would be naked.  Or nearly naked.  Nothing standing between her and Spike but a few flimsy strips of white fabric.  What if Spike pulled back the curtain while she was standing there in just her bra and panties?  What if Spike pushed himself inside the tiny dressing room and . . .?

Buffy’s heart lurched in her chest, and a familiar warmth rushed between her thighs.  Her eyes instantly shut, and she had to lean up against the wall behind her for support. 

She was being ridiculous, she told herself.  Completely and utterly ridiculous.  Yes, Spike had feelings for her.  Yes, he wanted her.  But that didn’t mean he was going to push her inside the dressing room and ravish her like a crazed lunatic.  Nothing was going to happen.  This little endeavor was all perfectly innocent.  Just a bit of harmless fun.

And Buffy needed a bit of harmless fun.  Anything to avoid going home.  Anything to avoid dealing with Giles and Dawn and the Scoobies.  She just wasn’t up to it right now.

Buffy opened her eyes.  She pushed herself away from the wall, and without another thought, tore the blouse over her head.  She quickly hung it beside her coat, slipped out of her boots and socks, and then pulled off her jeans.  When she looked in the mirror again, she found herself standing there in nothing more than two matching pieces of lace. 

Buffy took a moment to admire her own reflection, her skin flushing warmly at the vague knowledge that Spike could move the curtain aside at any second.  The bra she wore was slightly padded and did wonderful things for her cleavage.  She usually didn’t wear push-up bras anymore – that was so high school – but she had put one on tonight simply because it looked particularly flattering with the low-cut blouse she had worn.  Her stomach was still as flat as it had ever been, and her legs looked particularly long in the high-cut panties.  Overall, Buffy was quite satisfied with what she saw.  She looked down at the dressing room floor and eyed the plastic bag.     

Before she could change her mind, Buffy picked up the bag, popped open the snaps at the top, and pulled out the contents.

It didn’t take long for her to slip into the little dress.  There were no buttons, no zipper either.  Just tight-fitting elastic at the waist and the cuffs of the cap sleeves.

Buffy picked up the ends of the white sash that was sewn to the waist and tied it in a neat little bow behind her back.  Then, she slipped into the pair of stockings that had been rolled up with the dress and turned toward the mirror to make sure that they were even and that the black satin bows at the top were front and center.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the wall beside her and Buffy’s head shot up just in time to see the edge of the curtain draw open.

“Hey!” she shouted in alarm, her arms instinctively going up to cover her half-exposed chest.  “Still getting dressed in here.”

“Sorry, pet.  Not lookin’.  I swear.  Just don’t want you to forget these.” 

A second later, a pair of black patent leather Mary Janes appeared on Buffy’s side of the curtain, and her eyes grew wide with disbelief.  The thick, blocky heels were at least five inches high. 

“I’m not wearing those.”

“’Course you are, pet.  They’re perfect.”

“Those are stripper shoes.  Somewhere there’s a girl named Bambi dancing around a pole wondering why her feet are cold.”

“Just put them on.  Can’t be wearin’ that little number with boots, can ya?”

Buffy looked down at her brown calf-length boots.  No, she couldn’t wear them, could she? 

With nothing more than a disgruntled sigh, Buffy grabbed the shoes from Spike’s hand and pulled the curtain closed again.

“This is crazy,” she grumbled as she dropped the Mary Janes on the floor in front of her and slipped her feet inside without bothering to bend down and unbuckle the shoes.  The truth was, she couldn’t bend over in the dress she was wearing.  Or at least, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.  There simply wasn’t enough fabric in the skirt to cover her ass if she even made an attempt.

Once the shoes were on, Buffy turned to look at herself in the mirror.  Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she was so caught off guard that she wobbled uneasily on the high-heeled shoes and had to hold onto the walls for support.

She was wearing a poofy pink dress with short puffy sleeves and an even puffier white crinoline beneath.  Sewn to the front of the dress was a frilly white pinafore embroidered with a little brown teddy bear in one corner.  The pinafore stopped just below the scoop neckline.  The tight cut of the waist, combined with the low cut of the dress, perfectly accentuated the curves of Buffy’s breasts.  The skirt itself ended just below the apex of her thighs and was made to look even more provocative by the white thigh-high stockings that ended a few inches above her knees, leaving just enough exposed flesh between the hem of the skirt and the hem of the stockings to look both enticing and indecent.

Goldilocks.

Buffy still didn’t know why Spike had picked the costume.  With all his, “You're a creature of the darkness,” talk.  All the, “Try on my world. See how good it feels," crap he’d been spouting lately, she had expected him to pick something a little more bondage and a little less Bo Peep.  What, exactly, was he up to? she wondered. 

As she gazed at herself in the full-length mirror, she realized something.  She wasn’t Buffy anymore.  No, there was definitely nothing Buffy about the girl who was staring back at her from behind the glass. 

Buffy suddenly felt both like a fool and like the luckiest girl in the world.  She looked ridiculous, she knew that.  She felt silly and childish and slightly embarrassed.  Her cheeks were already flushed a deep shade of crimson.  But on the other hand, she definitely didn’t feel like Buffy anymore.  And there was something incredibly liberating about that.  For the first time in a long time, she actually felt okay with the fact that she even existed.  It wasn’t the greatest breakthrough in the world – after all, she was trespassing in a discount store, after hours, with a vampire, trying on slutty Halloween costumes – but at least it was a start.    

Buffy took one more moment to gaze at herself in the mirror before inhaling a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, and turning back toward the curtain.  Before she could stop herself, she grasped a handful of the dark fabric, pulled it back across the doorway, and stepped out onto the sales floor. 

Spike suddenly froze.  The large, plastic pirate sword he’d been playing with clattered loudly to the floor, and the goofy grin he’d been sporting completely disappeared.  Now, he was staring at her in slack-jawed wonder, and Buffy wasn’t sure whether it was horror or appreciation that she saw etched into his far-too-handsome face.

“Is it that bad?” she asked uncertainly.  “I look stupid, don’t I?”

Spike’s head moved slowly from side to side, the corner of his mouth curling in a bewildered smile.  “No, not stupid at all, pet,” he said, his eyes fixated on her face.

“Are you sure?” Buffy asked again, still unconvinced.

Spike’s eyes slowly trailed down her body, and Buffy felt utterly mortified.

“This is the dumbest idea ever.  I feel like an idiot,” she exclaimed as she swung around and headed back toward the dressing room. 

Before she could even take one step inside, Spike’s hand curled around her left wrist and stopped her.  “Don’t.”

Buffy turned back to look at him.  But she didn’t get a chance to speak.

“You look beautiful, luv.  Stunning.  I had absolutely no idea . . .”  His words trailed off as his eyes scanned down her body again. 

This time Buffy knew better than to mistake appreciation for horror.

She felt a rush of warmth spread the entire length of her body, and suddenly, she felt like the most beautiful, most desirable woman in the world.  When Spike’s eyes finally met hers again, she wasn’t sure which one of them was more struck with wonder.  Spike was looking at her like she was the most precious thing in all the universe.  And she was stunned by just how alive that made her feel.

They stared at each other for a long moment, both completely enraptured.  Then Spike did what Spike always did, he ruined the moment by trying to make a move. 

Spike stepped an inch closer, as if he wanted to press his body against hers, as if he wanted to kiss her.  Buffy instinctively backed away, afraid of being closed in, afraid of losing what little ground she had. 

She sidestepped Spike and walked farther out onto the sales floor.  She turned her back to him and pretended to examine the costumes on a nearby rack.

“Oh, bollocks,” she heard Spike swear under his breath.

Buffy turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, pet.  Just admirin’ the view,” he replied as his eyes swept appreciatively over her barely-concealed backside.

Buffy instantly swung around, hiding her ass from Spike’s view.

“Oh, well, that’s much better, isn’t it?”  He said with a knowing grin as his eyes fixated on her exposed cleavage.

Buffy gave Spike a dark look and swung around again, deciding to choose what she thought was the lesser of two evils.

She began rummaging through the rack once more, trying to ignore the slow creep of heat that was pulsating through her body as Spike watched her from across the room.  “So,” she began, in an attempt to make small talk, “why Goldilocks?  Why not something a little more Goth and a little less Goth Lolita, huh?  Remind you too much of your undead princess Drusilla?” 

Buffy turned to look at Spike over her shoulder again as her fingers mindlessly sifted through the hangers on the rack.

He smirked.  “Not quite.  You’re no Dru.  Hate to disappoint you, pet.”

“Hey, that’s fine with me,” Buffy replied as she turned back toward the costumes.  “Never really wanted to be a vampire skank anyway.”

She had expected Spike to get offended.  After all, she had just insulted the love of his life – or unlife.  But he didn’t get offended.  He didn’t get offended at all.  He just laughed.

“Trust me, luv.  Dru wouldn’t want to be the Slayer either.” 

“Really?  She doesn’t know what she’s missing.  Late nights patrolling.  Always going home covered in vamp dust.  Hey, how about dying twice and getting ripped out of Heaven?” Buffy said with false cheerfulness.  “That’s always fun.”

“Dru could never hold a candle to you,” Spike said, his voice suddenly serious.  “Never.”

The low timbre of his voice touched something inside Buffy, and her hands stilled on the rack.  “And yet, I’m the one who’s suffering.  I’m the one with the miserable, messed up life.  Aren’t I?”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Spike whispered as he slowly walked toward her.  “Not if you stop pretending and embrace what you really are.”

The hair on the back of Buffy’s neck stood up as he came closer.  He stopped an inch behind her, and even though his body was room temperature, she was sure that she could feel the heat rising from his flesh.

Buffy turned around slowly and stared up at Spike.  He was so close that she found herself practically pinned up against the rack.  “And how do I do that?  Join you in the darkness?  Please,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes for good measure.

“Who said anything about darkness, pet?” Spike asked as his eyes roved down her body.  “Nothin’ dark about you just now.  Just . . . uncertain.”

“What?” 

Spike’s eyes found hers again.  “Poor confused little girl,” he murmured softly as his fingers lazily played with the hem of her skirt. 

Buffy’s first instinct was to push his hand away, but she was too intrigued to stop him just then.  She wanted to see where he was going.

“This porridge is too hot,” he said as he gently ran his hand up her hip.  “This porridge is too cold,” he continued as his hand grazed her waist.  “But this porridge,” he moved his body closer, “this porridge is just right.”

Buffy watched him intently, mesmerized by the movement of his mouth as he spoke.  Instinctively, she leaned into him, her body finally making contact with his.  

She expected Spike to instantly make a move.  But he didn’t.  He just reached his fingers up to curl around a lock of her hair.  He broke her gaze so that he could watch it trail through his fingers.

“Just like Goldilocks, you’ve been looking for happiness in all the wrong places.  First Angel,” Spike said, finally meeting her eyes again, his fingers still toying with her golden tresses.  “But Angel was too hard.  Too evil.  Too dark.” 

Spike moved forward, pushing Buffy firmly up against the clothing rack.

“Then, then there was Riley.  And Riley was just too soft.  In more ways than one, I’m sure,” Spike said with a smirk.

He reached his free hand down below the hem of Buffy’s skirt and rested his fingers against her thigh.  A pulse of warmth shot through her core, and she had to fight the urge to press herself more firmly against him.

“Captain Cardboard was just too good.  A regular Boy Scout.  And yet,” Spike’s hand moved higher up her thigh, “you keep fighting what’s right in front of you.  You won’t face the truth, will you, luv?”

“The truth?” Buffy croaked, suddenly finding her throat surprisingly dry.

“Yeah, Slayer, the truth.”

Buffy raised her chin defiantly, determined not to let Spike psychoanalyze her.  She refused to give him the upper hand.  “And what truth is that?”

“What you really want . . .” 

Spike moved his hand between her thighs, cradling her sex in his palm.  Buffy strained against him, in spite of herself.

“What you really want is the man that fits . . . just right.”

Spike pushed the heel of his hand up against her more forcefully, and Buffy’s eyes instantly drifted closed.  With that single action, everything went black around her, and she completely shut off the outside world.  All that she could feel, all that existed for her in that moment, was Spike, and the sound of his voice, and the feel of his hand.

“All you want is the man that feels just right.”

He stroked his fingers gently over the soft lace of her panties, and Buffy sighed softly.  Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she kept telling herself that what she was doing was wrong.  That being there with Spike was wrong.  That letting him touch her was oh-so-very wrong.  The only problem was, it didn’t feel wrong.  It felt right.  Just right.

Spike took his time playing with her, toying with her.  He slipped his fingers beneath her panties and slowly traced the length of her opening.  Buffy refused to open her eyes, refused to acknowledge that this was anything but a dream, a sleep-induced haze.  It wasn’t real.  It couldn’t be real.  She wasn’t Buffy anymore.  She was Goldilocks.  And she had finally found what felt just right.

“That’s it, purr for me, pet,” Spike murmured, his lips pressed up against her ear.  “Purr for me.”

Buffy hadn’t even realized that she was moaning until he had pointed it out.  She wanted to stop.  She wanted to hide her pleasure and her arousal, but she couldn’t.  And she knew she couldn’t.  Not only could Spike feel her moisture pooling on his fingertips, but she knew he could smell her too, smell the musky scent of her rising from her body, clinging to her skin.

With a gentleness that completely surprised her, Spike slid one long finger inside.  And then another.  He pumped his fingers in and out, as his thumb reached up to rub her clit. 

Buffy’s head fell back, and she nearly lost consciousness.  Her body writhed against Spike’s, her mound pushing against his hand in hungry demand.  It had been so long since she’d found any kind of pleasure, any sensation at all that lifted her above the misery and the emptiness of her life.  But Spike, Spike made her feel alive.  And Buffy could no longer fight it.  She finally gave in, abandoning all pretense of resistance, and let him have his way with her.

Spike played her body like a finely tuned instrument, bringing her right to the edge and then pulling back just enough to keep her from tumbling over.  He removed his fingers and lightly stroked her swollen flesh.

“What do you want, Slayer?” he whispered in her ear.

“You,” Buffy moaned.

“Why?”

“Because you make me feel alive.”

“And who else makes you feel that way?”

Buffy could barely answer as his fingers slid up inside her again and began to stroke her inner walls. 

“Slayer,” he demanded.

“No one,” she breathed.  “No one.”

“And why is that?  Why Buffy?  Why?”

“Because,” she said between gasps of pleasure, her eyes still closed tightly against reality, “because you’re just right.  You’re just right for me, Spike.  Just right for me.”

Spike moved his hand, and Buffy suddenly felt bereft.  Her eyes drifted open of their own accord, and she stared at him in utter bewilderment. 

A moment later, Buffy heard a small tearing sound, and suddenly, her little lace panties were nothing more than a memory.

Spike looked at her with thinly veiled apprehension, the bravado in his gaze disappearing the moment the obstacle to her sex was removed.  But Buffy was too far gone to care.  She couldn’t fight anymore.  She didn’t want to fight anymore.  She just wanted to feel whole and alive again.  That’s all she wanted.

Buffy let her fingers fall to the opening in Spike’s jeans, the proof of his arousal clearly evident against the tight fabric.  Before she could stop herself, she popped open the button and pulled down the zipper, freeing him from the confines of his clothing.  Then, Buffy raised her hands to his shoulders and dug her fingers into the soft, supple leather of his duster.  An instant later, Spike lifted her up and impaled her on his throbbing cock.

Buffy nearly screamed.  He filled her so completely.  His body burned her where they were joined together, and she felt like she was going to catch fire.

With determined strides, Spike carried her across the floor, pushing her up against the wall beside the dressing room.  He thrust into her violently, and Buffy was thankful for the momentary pain that shot through her core and up her spine.  She thrust against him, allowing him to bury himself deeper inside her. 

He kissed her neck as she rode him, burying his face in her hair and drawing in her scent with lustful abandon. 

Buffy felt like she was going to explode.  Her whole body was drawn tight, and all she wanted was her final release.

“Spike,” she whispered his name, begging him for fulfillment.  “Please.”

Spike thrust in harder, his shaft pulsing violently with fresh blood.  Buffy strained against him, but it was no use.  She just couldn’t make it.

“Please, Spike, please.  Make me come,” she pleaded.

Spike raised his lips from her neck and stared up into her eyes, his own vibrant orbs glassy with desire.

“I love you, Buffy.  I love you.”  The words tore from somewhere deep in the back of his throat.

A moment later, his lips captured hers and Buffy crashed over the edge in a seemingly endless wave of pleasure.

As her climax overtook her, Buffy was only vaguely aware of Spike finding his own release.  She could feel him thrusting against her, feel the rush of his seed spilling into her, but it all seemed like a dream, like it was happening to someone else. 

When Buffy opened her eyes again, she found herself standing on her feet, her back pressed up against the wall, the strength of Spike’s arms around her the only thing keeping her from crumbling in a pile on the floor.  He was watching her, his eyes transfixed on her face.  She wanted to push him away, but he was gently stroking her hair, and she just couldn’t separate herself from his warmth.

“Was that so bad, pet?  Was that such a hard thing to admit?”

Buffy wanted to argue with him, to tell him that it was.  But she couldn’t.  She was too tired and too thoroughly sated to put up any resistance at all.

Spike reached up his hand to lovingly draw away a stray lock of hair that lay across her forehead.  He put it back in place and gently ran his palm over her golden tresses.  “My Goldilocks.  My sweet, sweet Goldilocks.  She finally knows what’s right for her.”

Buffy closed her eyes and allowed herself the momentary luxury of enjoying the feel of Spike’s hands upon her.  She knew it couldn’t last forever.  Once the afterglow dissipated, she knew her entire world would come crashing down around her.  There’d be regrets and accusations, blame and denials.  But in that moment, she didn’t care.  In that moment, she didn’t want to be Buffy anymore.  She just wanted to be Goldilocks, a little girl who had finally found exactly what she’d been looking for all along.

“What . . . what just happened?” Buffy asked, her voice uncharacteristically small and weak.

“You just embraced who you are, pet.  You gave in to who you are.”

And just like that, the spell was broken.

Buffy shoved Spike away from her, surprised to find that she had the strength.  She pushed her palms flat against the wall behind her for support.  “I didn’t do anything like that.  This,” she looked down at the pretty pink Halloween costume, at the ruffles and the pinafore, “this is not me.”

“Then why did you just do what you did?” Spike replied, raising one finely arched brow.

Buffy was desperate for an excuse, any excuse.  She wished, now more than ever, that it was Halloween 1997 again and she could blame her ridiculous behavior on some enchanted dress.  But she couldn’t.  And she knew she couldn’t. 

“Well, luv?  And don’t tell me someone’s gone and put a spell on that costume,” he said, nodding toward her scantily clad form.  “That excuse only works once.”

Buffy didn’t have the wits to argue with him.  She was too confused, too horrified by what she had just done to even think straight.  Instead of arguing, she did the only thing she could do, she started making demands. 

“This never happened, Spike,” Buffy said as she finally pushed herself away from the wall.  “Do you hear me?”  She moved toward him, stopping a few inches in front of him and looking him square in the eye, the high heels bringing her closer to his height than she had ever been before.  “If you so much as breathe a word of this to anyone, I will kill you.  I won’t even have to think about it.  Understand?”

Spike smirked.  “Oh, I understand.  Don’t want any of your lily-white friends knowing what kind of girl you really are.”

Buffy pulled back her fist and punched him in the face.  The sound of her knuckles hitting his nose was satisfying, but she still wished she had a stake handy.

Without another word, Buffy turned on her heels and marched back to the dressing room.  But the moment she pulled the curtain closed behind her, she completely deflated.

Buffy sank back against the wall and stared at herself in the mirror.  She suddenly felt like crying.  She had been so stupid, so careless.  She had gone and . . . and . . . had sex with Spike.

She wanted to die.

Buffy closed her eyes.  She had done a stupid, stupid thing.  Spike was wrong, completely wrong about her.  Why had she let him manipulate her like that?  She could blame the costume all she wanted, but the truth was, she had done it for one reason and one reason only.  She had done it because Spike was right.  As much as she didn’t want to admit it to herself, as much as she wanted to live in denial about it the rest of her life, the truth was, Spike did always feel just right.  Everything about him felt right. 

She could pretend all she wanted that Angel made her feel loved and whole, but the truth was, all Angel had ever made her feel like was a little girl, like a toy to be played with when he felt like it.  And Riley, Riley had made her feel like a freak, like she had to deny who she was.  But Spike, Spike never made her feel inferior, never made her feel like she had to be anyone but who she was.  She could blame it on the costume, blame it on being torn out of Heaven, but the reality was, Spike fit her to perfection. 

Buffy opened her eyes and took one long last look at herself in the mirror.  For the first time that evening, she finally saw Buffy staring back at her.  And it scared her just a little.

Quickly, Buffy began to strip herself of the frilly little costume.  With shaking limbs, she slipped into her street clothes, shoving the costume back into the plastic bag and instantly willing herself to forget all about it.  She then rejoined Spike on the salesroom floor.

“Suppose you’re plannin’ to stake me now, huh?” he asked.  “Just get it over with?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Buffy replied.

Spike pointed a finger at her.  “You just threatened to—”

“Threatened to what, Spike?  We came in here to dust some vamps.  We dusted them, and now it’s time to get home.  Mind walking me?”

“What?”

“Fine,” Buffy said as she walked past him and toward the back exit, “don’t walk me home.”

A moment later, she heard Spike fall into step beside her, and it felt just right.

END


End file.
